


this is how you make a marriage proposal

by stardustandswimmingpools



Category: Falsettos - Lapine/Finn
Genre: Canon Gay Relationship, Canon Lesbian Relationship, Domestic Fluff, Family Fluff, Father-Son Relationship, Fluff, Friendship, Gay Male Character, Gen, Happy AU, Idiots in Love, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Neighbors, Platonic Relationships, Sexual Humor, alcohol use, but it's consented and legal and not abuse, but no actual sexual content, cordelia CAN cook and we can FIGHT on it, everyone tells marvin to propose to whizzer, i'm not that good, tentative friendship between divorced people, tight knit family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-12
Updated: 2017-06-12
Packaged: 2018-11-13 07:27:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11179929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stardustandswimmingpools/pseuds/stardustandswimmingpools
Summary: Everyone tells Marvin to propose to Whizzer.





	this is how you make a marriage proposal

**Author's Note:**

> \- i love jason with my whole heart and a half  
> \- anyway, here's a fic that i wrote awhile ago and never posted! in honor of falsettos winning zero (0) Tony awards, i'm gonna post it now. fuck the american theatre wing.  
> \- this is pure fluff. i have looked at the word fluff so many times it doesn't look like a word anymore.  
> \- imma try not to ramble too much in the notes so all you should know is that this is a whizzer lives au, about two years later. jason is fourteen. and final note: the ice cream thing is something _my_ dad does to me all the time so i felt like i had to include it.  
>  \- okay also this is in a weird time period just don't think too hard about it bc the thing is it's SUPPOSED to be canon era but i forgot that in that canon era they didn't have cell phones. so like...just roll with ok  
> \- OH YEAH ONE MORE IMPORTANT (ish) THING!!! i know that everyone thinks Cordelia can't cook but my personal theory is that she's a _great_ cook, she just can't cook Jewish food, which is all she actually cooks in the show. you can't prove me wrong, so I'm deciding I'm right. and if you can prove me wrong, just, don't.  
>  \- also their last name is feldman because it is apparently the widely accepted last name?? yeah?? go with it  
> \- cool, enjoy!!!

Charlotte watches Marvin fumble around Whizzer for exactly four days before she’s had just about enough of that.

“I got it!” Marvin shouts unnecessarily on Monday, as if Whizzer was going to get up and get the phone anyway. He answers. “Hello?”

“Marvin?”

“Hey, Charlotte. Yeah, it’s me.”

“Can you come over here? I need to talk to you about something.”

Marvin blinks. “Uh, sure. You — you know we’re neighbors, right? You can just...come here. Or even knock on my door to tell me to —”

“I’ll see you in two minutes. Don’t bring Whizzer!” Charlotte sing-songs as she hangs up.

Marvin wrinkles his nose.

“Who was it?” Whizzer yells from the bedroom. Marvin rethinks the conversation.

“Uh, just Cordelia. She wants me to go over to taste some of her new cooking. I’ll be back in a few,” he calls, and hears Whizzer’s sympathetic noise.

“Don’t choke!”

“Never without you, babe.”

Whizzer cackles and Marvin grins as he slips out the door to the apartment across the hall.

* * *

 

Charlotte has her hands on her hips and she stares Marvin down as he crosses the threshold and meets her eyes.

“Hello,” he says, testing.

Charlotte fixes him with her most unimpressed look. “Marvin Feldman, are you going to propose to Whizzer?”

Marvin _does_ almost choke. “W-what? Fucking — what? Propose? Where did — that — what?”

Charlotte rolls her eyes. “I knew it. You kept stammering and looking at his hands a lot. I figured you either did some really unforgivable fetish stuff or you were trying to figure out what size ring to get him. Please tell me it’s the second one.”

Marvin’s eyes grow wide. “Uh — we didn’t —” And then he surrenders to the mighty Charlotte glare. “Alright, okay! I’m going to propose. I’m going to _try_ to propose. _Maybe._ He’s gonna say no, right? Why would he marry me? We do just fine without the whole certificate garbage.”

“Because you’re in love, idiot,” she replies, grabbing his wrist and leading him to their couch. Marvin likes Charlotte and Cordelia’s apartment. It’s more of a home, really: full of cushions and picture frames and pink things and smiling faces. It gives Marvin a really warm feeling. “Do I need to convince you, or should I just get Cordelia in here to help you plan the wedding?”

“Both?” Marvin guesses. Charlotte rolls her eyes for the second time.

“Listen, I know you two like to tear each other apart in every possible sense of the phrase, but you’re meant to be. And if you don’t get your _shit_ together and propose, I’m gonna do it for you.” Marvin chuckles nervously. “That was a serious threat.”

“Okay, alright, I just — alright.” Marvin feels his heart pound, not for the first time since deciding he wants to spend the entire rest of his life with Whizzer — it’s the sheer concept that intimidates him. Scarier than when he got married to Trina, because he didn’t love Trina, and secretly he always hoped — always _knew_ — that that would go badly. Besides, he’d married Trina out of necessity, so their child wouldn’t be born illegitimate. With Whizzer, there’s no such opportunity for a good excuse like that. Marvin sighs. “Char, I’m terrified.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Charlotte says brusquely. “He adores you.”

Marvin shrugs. “Weren’t you nervous when you proposed to Cordelia?”

Charlotte looks at him for a moment, and then bursts out laughing. “ _What?_ You think _I_ proposed?” she gasps. “Oh, honey, that’s precious. ‘Delia, come in here!”

“Can it wait? I’m just putting the last batch — okay, coming!” Cordelia appears in the doorway of the living room as Charlotte calms down and pats the seat next to her.

“Tell Marvin our proposal story,” she says, a twinkle in her eye, and Marvin figures he’s probably about to get schooled and then he’ll _never_ be able to propose because nothing can beat the lesbians next door’s flourishing love.

Cordelia’s face immediately brightens. “Ooh, we had a fancy dinner at home. See, she was still a nurse, and my catering business hadn’t quite taken off yet, and we couldn’t exactly afford fancy restaurants, so we just made our own restaurant right here.”

“It was charming,” Charlotte says pointedly, looking at Cordelia with so much adoration that Marvin wants to either puke or cry.

Cordelia flushes. “We got dressed up all fancy and I made chicken and vegetables —”

“Which was delicious.”

“Thanks, babe.” Cordelia presses a kiss to Charlotte’s cheek before going on, “We used our fancy dishes and everything. I was going to propose to Char over dessert, which was tiramisu —”

“My favorite,” Charlotte adds, with a sideways look at Cordelia. “Which I never brought up, she just picked up on it because that’s what I always ordered when we went out for dinner.”

“Stop interrupting!” Cordelia mock-protests. “I’m telling the story. Don’t make me look so good.”

“You do it all by yourself, babe.” Charlotte wraps an arm around Cordelia’s waist and Marvin thinks crying is the best course of action.

Cordelia blushes deeper. “ _Anyway,_ I cut the tiramisu in the kitchen and I brought it out and we both started eating, and then I was about to ask her when I realized I didn’t have the ring.”

Charlotte starts to smile just about now, stretching over her face like she couldn’t stop it if she tried. “And I started to get thirsty, so I got up to get some water —”

“— When I remember that I’d left the box in the kitchen,” Cordelia finishes, her smile mirroring Charlotte’s. “Anyway, I leapt up after her and tried to bullshit some excuse for her to leave the kitchen, but when I got to her she was holding the box and...well, secret’s out!” She giggles. “So I did my whole speech, and then Charlotte got down on one knee and pretended to propose back with the ring _I’d_ bought for her, and now…” She snatches Charlotte’s hand and flashes the ring, which isn’t anything special, but it’s beautiful in its simplicity. Marvin’s never noticed her ring before, but it suits her. Subtle but brilliant. Cordelia’s smile is so wide Marvin worries it’ll split her face in half. “Now she’s my doctor _forever!_ ”

“Babe, I told you to stop saying that, it sounds creepy,” Charlotte reprimands, grinning as she kisses Cordelia.

“Well, thank you for the pep talk, I have to go,” Marvin says loudly, feeling no better and in fact much worse now than he had before. Charlotte clicks her tongue and grabs Marvin’s wrist.

“The point is, Marvin, even if it’s not perfect, you two are made for each other. Nothing can fuck that up.”

“Ooh, you’re proposing to Whizzer?” Cordelia squeals. “It’s about time. I’ve had plans for your wedding cake since I learned you were together.”

Marvin laughs. “I believe it. Well, uh, thanks, Char. I really should go, though. I told Whizzer I was taste-testing for Cordelia.”

“I just made cookies,” Cordelia offers, “if you want an alibi.”

Marvin thinks on this. “It can’t hurt.”

* * *

 

Cordelia ends up helping him pick out a ring the following day — because Marvin calls her at 2pm at the ring store, fretting and in a state of near-panic because what if it doesn’t fit and what if it doesn’t look good and what if he hates it and —

She meets him at the jeweler’s and Marvin finally decides on one that Cordelia agrees with. At the checkout, the lady behind the counter smiles warmly at them and says, “Mazel tov on your marriage!”

Cordelia and Marvin lock eyes, grin, and then simultaneously say, “I’m gay,” as Marvin takes the box and change from the woman. Her face is enough to keep them laughing all the way back to the apartment building. They stop in front of Marvin’s place.

“Go get him, tiger,” Cordelia cheers. Marvin’s eyes widen.

“What? I’m not proposing _today,_ ” he says quickly. “I need to plan it and make it good first. So I don’t make an idiot of myself.”

Cordelia tilts her head and looks at him funnily. “If you say so,” she says with a half-shrug. “Full disclosure, though: if you plan a proposal, it will _never_ go the way you want it to go. Moira’s law.”

“Murphy’s law.”

“That’s what I meant. Murphy’s law. Anything that can go wrong, will go wrong.” Cordelia pats his shoulder. “If you really want to make it good, be spontaneous.”

Marvin scoffs. “Spontaneous isn’t on my list of characteristics. Not even at the way bottom, like, not even underneath ‘charismatic’. It’s so far off my list it’s still a slave in Egypt.”

Cordelia chuckles. “Good luck!”

She skips off to her own flat, to her loving wife, to her delicious cooking and cushiony couch, and Marvin stares at the door to his and Whizzer’s apartment for a full minute before letting himself in.

“Whizzer?” He slips the ring in his pocket, even though he doesn’t think Whizzer’s home, but just in case. As he sidles towards their bedroom, he repeats, “Whiz? You home?”

His heart stops for a second as he considers that. _Home._ That’s what this place is to him, isn’t it? Home. Although, well. If Whizzer didn’t live here, his clothes and life scattered across the front hall and the living room and the bedroom and bathroom, it wouldn’t feel like home so much as a stone-cold coffin in which Marvin sleeps. That’s how it felt for those two years after they broke up: not a home, just a residence.

Whizzer shouldn’t be home, because Whizzer told Marvin he’d be getting all of their suits dry-cleaned like they do once a month. Marvin never goes to the dry-cleaner, because apparently they know Whizzer there and sometimes he gets discounts and stuff. Marvin had once been convinced it was just so that Whizzer could sneak off and screw the dry-cleaning boy behind his back, but now…

Whizzer’s been loyal. Faithful, if difficult; supportive, if snarky. Just about the perfect boyfriend. Thinking of Whizzer cheating on Marvin is like thinking about World War Two; yeah, it’s a shitty _idea,_ but not something that would ever happen nowadays. At least, 99% chance it won’t.

Because — Whizzer loves Marvin as much as Marvin loves Whizzer. It’s easy to forget that sometimes, when Marvin feels like he’s begging for Whizzer’s attention, or begging for...other things, but sometimes, just in the rare moments where he catches his boyfriend off-guard, he sees Whizzer looking at him with this soft expression, just a second before his face rearranges into a smirk and a wink. Whizzer catches him gazing daily, but it’s luck whenever it’s reversed, and Marvin takes mental snapshots of those moments.

There’s a tug in Marvin’s chest sharply, an irrational one, as he puts the ring box under a t-shirt in his dresser drawer and heads to the kitchen for a beer. Even though they live together, even though they’re boyfriends, even though they’re in love, even though they have the most fantastic sex in the world, even though Whizzer is only, like, two blocks away right now and he’ll be home within an hour —

He misses Whizzer.

There’s no doubt in his mind now — Jesus Christ, he wants to marry Whizzer so badly it hurts like a metal clamp around his heart.

He pulls out his phone and speed-dials. Two and a half rings.

“Hello?”

Marvin sighs. “Hey, Whizzer.”

“Something wrong?” Whizzer asks. “I’m on my way home, just stopped for a late lunch.”

Marvin finds himself smiling stupidly and bites his lip to hide it, even though, really, who’s he hiding from?

“No, just...wanted to hear your voice,” he admits.

Whizzer snorts. “Sap.”

“Maybe.” Marvin grins. “Get home soon, okay?”

“Why, you got a date?”

Marvin chuckles. “If I’m lucky.”

The sound of traffic buzzes in the background of the call as Whizzer says, “Wow, who’s the guy?”

“Kind of an asshole, to be honest,” Marvin says, as affectionately as he can. “But so am I.”

“Sounds like a delight,” Whizzer replies. “I heard he’s a sex god.”

Marvin laughs. “He’s gonna need to convince me, then, won’t he?”

“Challenge accepted.”

“See you in a few,” Marvin says. “Love you.”

“Love you too, bye!” Whizzer hangs up.

Marvin leans his head back onto the couch cushions and breathes.

Then he calls Charlotte.

“Hello?”

“He’s gonna say yes,” Marvin tells her.

Charlotte scoffs. “I could’ve told you that.”

* * *

 

Even in his confidence, which wavers every ten seconds, Marvin has no idea how to propose, and _that_ fucking terrifies him. He still has his doubts. In theory, Whizzer would totally marry him, but in practice, what if he thinks Marvin’s proposal speech is dumb? What if he laughs? What if he breaks up with Marvin, like, very suddenly and spontaneously?

The following night, Trina calls.

“Hi,” Marvin says on the phone, as Whizzer calls out, “Babe, what are we having for dinner?”

“Marvin, hi,” Trina says, and Marvin’s pleasantly surprised to hear how relaxed her voice is, like someone’s injected her with new life. Or heroin. “Are you and Whizzer doing something tonight?”

Marvin frowns. “Don’t know,” he says, and covers the receiver. “Whizzer, are we doing anything tonight?”

“Hopefully each other,” Whizzer suggests, appearing in the doorway of the kitchen holding a wooden spoon. “Is this meat or dairy?”

“They’re marked, Whizzer,” Marvin says for the umpteenth time. “That one’s pareve.”

“Well, you should mark them more clearly, then,” Whizzer huffs, disappearing again into the kitchen.

“No?” Trina prompts on the phone, and Marvin takes his hand off the receiver.

“No,” Marvin says. “Except — no.”

“Great,” Trina says happily. “Jason’s at a sleepover — thank _god,_ he’s finally made some friends — which means Mendel and I are treating you two to drinks, if you’re up for it. And Charlotte and Cordelia, of course.”

Marvin blinks. “Wow, really?” And then, to his boyfriend; “Whizzer! We’re going for drinks tonight with Trina and Mendel!”

“So you’re sleeping with _Mendel?_ Wow, you have got one fucked-up family web,” Whizzer deadpans. Marvin makes a face at him.

“We’re down,” he tells Trina. “Where and when?”

Trina gives him the name of a bar and tells him to meet them at ten, and Marvin hangs up and faces his boyfriend, who’s leaning up against the doorway of the kitchen with a raised eyebrow.

“So,” he says, “lasagna?”

“Sounds perfect,” Marvin says. “And I have an idea for what we can do while it cooks.”

“Lucky for you, I’m the greatest boyfriend in the world, and it’s already cooking,” Whizzer says, smirking as he advances on Marvin.

The half-hour until the lasagna is finished does not go unused. Neither does their sofa.

* * *

 

The first time they’d gone drinking, Marvin, who was the designated driver, had made a wonderful discovery:

Whizzer is a lightweight.

The novelty has worn off since then, but the amusement factor hasn’t. Marvin is also a lightweight, but he waits a bit until Whizzer gets drunk before intoxicating himself, because he loves drunk Whizzer.

After two shots, Whizzer stumbles back to Marvin, who’s nursing his first beer to make his soberness drag out as much as possible. Cordelia has generously offered to be the designated driver, for many self-identified reasons: Trina _needs_ this; Mendel likes drinking; Charlotte’s a _doctor,_ for god’s sake, she’s _never_ allowed to be drunk; and Marvin and Whizzer like to see who can take the most alcohol before essentially blacking out. Also, they live nearby, so it’s not like they’ll need to drive. Cordelia, Charlotte reasons, can get drunk whenever, since half of her cooking ingredients are alcohol-based. Cordelia doesn’t bother disputing this.

“Hey, baby,” Whizzer whispers in his ear. “Remember what we did earlier tonight? We should do that again.”

Marvin shivers. “Not here,” he compromises.

Whizzer kisses his neck. “Tonight.”

“Not while we’re both drunk,” Marvin says regretfully.

“Drunk on _you,_ baby,” Whizzer hisses against his jaw.

Marvin detaches himself from his boyfriend, takes a breath to calm himself, and signals to the bartender to get a round of shots. “L’chaim,” he says, wrapping an arm firmly around Whizzer’s (swaying) waist and using the other to raise his beer. “To Jason finally getting a friend.”

“That’s a terrible toast,” Mendel says, “but I’ll drink to anything at this point.”

Marvin laughs, Cordelia laughs, and they all drink. Except Whizzer, who pouts and tries to take Marvin’s drink. Marvin concedes easily, and Whizzer chugs the alcohol. “L’chaim!” he proclaims, pronouncing the _ch_ like in _chess_. Trina chuckles and downs a shot.

“Look at us,” she says in a sing-song voice. “Grown-ass men and women getting blackout drunk. I have a child.”

“Hey, so do I,” Marvin interjects.

“So do I,” Mendel says.

“I have, like, half a child,” Whizzer contributes. “He’s not mine but he may ‘s well be.”

“He’s my kid,” Marvin says, “so yours by extension.”

“Right, honey,” Whizzer purrs. “Everything of yours is mine. Like your _ass._ ”

“Aaand that’s enough,” Marvin says, to Charlotte’s hysterical laughter. “Come on, Whiz, another round.”

He drags his boyfriend to the bar and Whizzer makes a vague and complex motion to the bartender, sort of like a secret signal. The bartender nods, a bit confused, and turns to pour their drinks.

“You look hot tonight,” Whizzer murmurs, not even looking at Marvin, just gazing off into the middle distance.

“You’re not so bad yourself,” Marvin says.

“I’m prettier than you,” Whizzer muses. Marvin laughs and shakes his head.

“That you are.”

“Yeah, you’re lucky you snagged me before —” He gestures erratically before his finger points at a random person, some fifty-something-year-old sitting at the bar, looking apathetic. “Before that handsome fella.”

“I’m not sure if I’m going to take any of your compliments to heart tonight,” Marvin comments. Whizzer looks at him, eyes bright, and drags him into a long kiss.

Every time he kisses Whizzer, it feels like he’s being rebuilt, piece by piece. “Whoa,” he says, unsteady as they break apart. “What’s that for, babe?”

“I like kissing you. You got a nice mouth. And I love you.” Whizzer shrugs.

The bartender knocks on the bar to get their attention and they both look over. “Uh, your shots,” he says uncertainly.

Marvin nods, and then, because the bartender looks mildly uncomfortable, he cranks up the spite and kisses Whizzer one more time, shamelessly sloppy.

Whizzer giggles when he pulls away and immediately downs a shot. “Boy, I am drunk off my ass.”

Marvin smiles. “My turn.”

As it happens, Trina can handle her liquor the best, and she only starts getting tipsy after five shots. Marvin classifies them all as the buzz sets in.

Charlotte is an angry drunk, prepped and ready to fight both the patriarchy _and_ heterosexuals at the same time, it seems. She argues with everyone who speaks to her, and almost with Cordelia once, before Cordelia kisses her quiet.

Trina is a giggly drunk, which, if he’s honest, is such a relief for Marvin to see, because he can’t remember the last time Trina smiled so much, or laughed so much. Even at her wedding with Mendel, there’d been stress lines and wrinkles and apparent gray hairs. They’ve vanished tonight.

Mendel isn’t really anything drunk except for even more sappy than usual. He makes doe eyes at Trina the whole night, kissing her cheek every two minutes, and declaring his adoration for her to anyone who will listen.

Whizzer is a slutty drunk, which Marvin knows and loves usually, but they’re in company now, and he’d really appreciate if Whizzer would stop grabbing his ass. And whispering dirty phrases in his ear. Et cetera.

Marvin…

Is too drunk to care what kind of a drunk he is.

(Later, Cordelia tells him that he reminded her of Mendel, because both of them were just sitting there, listening and sappily tolerating their lovers’ antics).

* * *

 

“Fuck,” Whizzer whispers into Marvin’s ear when he wakes up the next morning, and Marvin’s first thought is, _did we fall asleep in the middle of having sex?_

The answer is no, but Marvin has a _grinding_ headache, and the word _fuck_ seems to capture that pretty well, so he turns over and squints at Whizzer, back-lit against the sunlight.

“‘Morning,” he whispers back. “How does a lazy day sound?”

“Don’t you have work?”

“I’ll call in sick. I never do that, so they trust me.”

“Ooh, rebellious.” Whizzer grins wickedly. “If it didn’t feel like my head was being smashed repeatedly by a really bigass watermelon, I’d be turned on. I love a bad boy.”

“Then I don’t know _what_ you see in me,” Marvin says casually, snuggling deeper under the covers and pressing up against Whizzer. He feels his boyfriend drop a kiss on his head.

“Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?” he teases, and Marvin sighs and falls in love for the millionth time. “You’re both smoking hot, for starters.”

Marvin chuckles, and so does Whizzer, and then he falls immediately back asleep. Not before thinking, _Christ, Whizzer, will you just fucking marry me already?_

* * *

 

The following day, Marvin bravely takes the ring out of his drawer and slips it in the inside pocket of his coat when he goes to work. He doesn’t take it out except to flip the box open and closed so often he stops for fear of breaking the mechanism.

The ring has been in his pocket all day like an amulet. Or a curse. Whichever.

It’s haunting him. Every time he thinks, _okay, today’s the day,_ he hears Whizzer’s snide cackle, hears him say, _sorry, not interested,_ and he slides the box back into his jacket.

Finally he takes a break to step outside the building and turns his phone on. He has six contacts on speed dial, and only recently did they decide to give Jason a phone, because it’s easy for a kid to get lost in the city, even a smart kid like him, and you never know. He scrolls through his speed dials.

Whizzer.

Charlotte.

Cordelia.

Mendel.

Jason.

And —

“Marvin?”

“Hi, Trina,” Marvin says, and then winces. “I shouldn’t have called, sorry.”

“That’s okay,” Trina says, and oddly enough, it does sound okay, and Marvin has a moment where it feels like two puzzle pieces are finally fitting into place. His life finally fits with Trina’s, without fighting it for space. They’re like two tectonic plates that have finally settled just next to each other, side by side but not on top of each other. No friction. “What’s the matter?”

Marvin swallows. “I want to ask Whizzer to marry me.”

There’s silence for a moment before Trina says, chuckling, “Well, that’s abrupt, but I’m happy for you.”

“Yeah. It’s just — I know this is the worst thing to ask my ex-wife of all people, but I’m...scared he’s gonna — say no, or something.” Wow, this was _really_ a mistake.

Trina barks a laugh. “Whizzer? Say no? To marrying _you?_ I thought I was the oblivious one.”

And strangely…

“That’s really helpful, Trina, thanks.” He says it dryly but actually — it is really helpful, because Trina is finally being honest with him, and if she can believe that, so can he.

“I do my best,” Trina responds flippantly.

“Who’s on the phone? Is that dad? Can I talk to him?” Marvin hears in the background, and a grin splits his face open against his will.

“Hey, put Jason on, I want to talk to him,” Marvin says.

“Yeah, he wants to talk to you,” Trina says to Jason, and then he hears the phone passed.

“Hi dad!”

“Hey, kiddo, how’s it going?”

“Good. Hey, did you hear I had a sleepover two nights ago?”

“I did! Who’s the kid?”

“His name is Joey and he’s super cool. He had a whole binder of pokemon cards and we battled. He beat me because I don’t really know what the pokemon do, but it was still awesome!”

Marvin laughs as his heart swells. “I’m glad you had a good time. Hey, listen, ask your mom if I can come get you early, okay? I want to spend some time with you.”  
“I’m gonna see you in two hours, dad,” Jason says.

“I know, I just…” Marvin frowns. “Unless you don’t want to.”

“I do,” Jason says simply. “Hang on.”

Marvin hears his son asking his ex-wife if he can go out with Marvin, and then Trina’s back on the line.

“Why?” She asks in a low voice. “Are you going to ask him for his advice on how to propose?”

Marvin makes a noise of dissent. “I just want to see him,” he admits. “Feels like it’s been forever. And yes, I want to tell him that I'm going to propose to Whizzer. It seems only fair to warn him.”

Trina sighs. “You’re...something else, Marvin. Alright, can you come pick him up? I’ve got my hands full, Cordelia asked me to make enough salad for a hundred people by eight and didn’t offer any explanation. Mendel’s at work.”

“Yeah,” Marvin says, glancing up at his building. “I’ll be there in about fifteen minutes.”

They say their goodbyes, Marvin hangs up, and then he casually reenters the building and swipes his card. He’s done for the day. A few additional hours with his son is worth the extra paperwork he’ll have on Sunday.

* * *

 

“How come we always get ice cream whenever we go out?” Jason inquires, chocolate coating his mouth.

“Is that a complaint? We can stop,” Marvin teases.

Jason nudges him. “ _No,_ I’m just curious.”

Marvin shrugs. “It tastes good, it’s cheap, it’s fun. I don’t know. Do you want a five-course meal next time?”

Jason shakes his head. He licks his cone, contented for ten seconds as Marvin watches the passer-bys that cross in front of the park bench they're both currently sat on.

“Did you want to talk to me about something?” Jason asks. Marvin looks at him, setting his ice cream down onto the free bench space beside him.

“Why do you ask?”

“Seems like you do,” Jason says, shrugging.

Marvin inhales deeply and then exhales all at once. “Smart kid. Yeah, I did, actually. You're not in trouble,” he adds.

“I know.”

“I'm thinking of — I'm gonna propose to Whizzer,” Marvin says, deciding that being upfront is the best solution.

Jason’s face lights up. “Really? _Yes!_ He's gonna be my official dad!”

Marvin chuckles. “That's definitely a stronger reaction than I was expecting.”

“Dad,” Jason says, in that voice that means _duh, idiot_ , “I love Whizzer.”

Marvin scratches the back of his neck. “Yeah, I know, I just...I don't know, it can be confusing — you're gonna have four parents.”

Jason contemplates this for exactly four seconds. “Good,” he decides. “Whizzer and Mendel are the cool parents, you and mom can be the serious parents.”

Marvin crosses his arms. “Hey, I'm cool! I listen to Van Halen.”

Jason screws up his face. “ _Who?_ ”

“Greatest band to ever exist!” Marvin’s eyes bug out of his head, almost. “I can't believe you've been raised without knowing Van Halen. I feel like I've failed as a father.”

Jason giggles. “Your music taste is crap.”

“No it is _not_!”

Jason doesn't respond, just licks his cone again. “Hey,” Marvin says suddenly, “can I taste that?”

Jason hands him the cone and Marvin takes a lick and then sniffs the ice cream. He scrunches his face up. “Ooh, weird. It kind of smells like...strawberries and laundry detergent? Am I crazy? Jason, tell me how this smells to you.”

He holds up the cone to Jason, and as his son leans in to take a whiff, he jabs the cone up to smear ice cream on Jason’s nose. Jason jerks backwards, attempting to glare as Marvin dissolves in laughter.

“Dad!”

Marvin looks at Jason, still laughing. “Come on, that was funny. It's a good look for you.”

Jason surrenders to a fit of giggles, and Marvin wraps an arm around him and squeezes his shoulders. “You know I love you, kiddo.”

Jason nods. “Love you too, dad.”

* * *

 

There's a knock. Whizzer opens the door, patting Marvin’s thigh to indicate that he should stay on the couch. They're watching I Love Lucy reruns, so Marvin accepts this, because he really does love Lucy. Jason also likes this show, thankfully, and he's been sitting quiet and contented for the last hour as the three of them slowly drain an entire bottle of apple juice. Every once in awhile, he'll jump in with a goofy comment that makes them chuckle.

“Charlotte, what a pleasant surprise,” Whizzer says, widening the doorway to admit her. “Care to join our I Love Lucy marathon?”

Charlotte just points at Marvin with an accusing finger. “You,” she says. “I need to talk to you.”

Whizzer looks from Marvin to Charlotte. “Are you two having an affair?”

Jason looks affronted, and Marvin clears his throat. “ _Whizzer._ ”

“Joking, kiddo,” Whizzer tells Jason. “Marvin is never gonna find anyone attractive enough to betray his faithfulness to me.”

Jason snorts.

“But I'm watching I Love Lucy,” Marvin whines. “This is quality boyfriend-son bonding time.”

“It'll only take a minute,” Charlotte promises. “Cordelia insists on your expert taste-testing skills because you were so good at it last time.”

Marvin rolls his eyes. “Take Whizzer.”

“No, that's okay,” Whizzer says. “Go on, Marv. We’ll fill you in when you get back.”

Marvin glares at him, then heaves himself off the couch with a monumental groan of distaste. He looks at Whizzer and is overcome with the urge to kiss him senseless.

It'll have to wait.

“See ya, Whizzer, Jason,” Charlotte says, waving as she drags Marvin out of his own apartment.

Once they're sufficiently far from the door they’d just vacated, Charlotte flicks him on the shoulder. “Ow! Charlotte!”

“You — need — to — propose,” Charlotte says flatly, punctuating each word with a stomp of her heel. “Come on, Marvin. Don’t be a wimp.”

“What — Charlotte! I'm taking care of it, okay? It has to be meaningful.”

“it's going to be meaningful even if you ask him at a 7/11 as you're being mugged. You're _proposing_.”

“Listen,” he says, lowering his voice and glancing backwards, paranoid, “I am _going_ to ask him. Please just let me do this on my own time.”

Charlotte purses her lips and apprehends Marvin. “Fine,” she acquiesces, “but it's exhausting watching you lose your head.”

“Thank you. You'll be the first to know when I do,” Marvin promises. Charlotte shakes her head.

“Jason will be the first to know,” she says pointedly. As if he’s going to do it this weekend. As if he has the guts to do that. Marvin rolls his eyes.

“Go back to your lesbian lover,” he says. “I'm spending quality time. I'll see you later. Okay?”

Charlotte scoffs and gives him a wry smile. “Alright, okay. I can take a hint. See you.”

She ruffles his hair and then turns and walks back to her apartment.

Marvin reenters his own. Jason and Whizzer haven't moved.

“The guy got mad,” Jason says vaguely, eyes glued to the TV.

“And then the lady screamed at him,” Whizzer adds.

“They're gonna be fine,” Marvin says, reclaiming his place on the sofa next to Whizzer and linking their fingers together. “You'll see.”

Whizzer smiles at him, and they're gonna be just fine.

* * *

 

Marvin loves the weekends he gets with his son, and he loves his son. But it's hard to keep his concentration on chess when Whizzer is standing just behind Marvin, gently massaging his shoulders; it's hard to focus on Jason’s Pokemon talk when Whizzer keeps playing with his hands and Marvin can't stop picturing the same hands but with an engagement ring.

When Trina comes over on Sunday night to get Jason, she smiles warmly at them and doesn't spare another word as she ushers Jason out.

Marvin closes the door, sighs, and then looks up to meet Whizzer’s eyes. His boyfriend, admittedly, has become remarkably well-behaved around Jason, but now that they're alone, Whizzer’s expression is sly and seductive.

Marvin laughs. “You don't need to seduce me,” he promises. “I'm all yours.”

Whizzer’s cackle carries them back to their bedroom.

* * *

 

“Okay okay okay okay okay,” Marvin says under his breath, “I'm gonna propose, I'm gonna do it, I'm actually going to propose to my boyfriend.” He fiddles with the velvet box in his pants pocket as he walks home from the Subway station and runs over his proposal speech on Monday, which was written mentally instead of doing the paperwork he should have been doing at the office.

It's a lot of self-deprecation, he uses the word _asshole_ a lot, and hopefully it ends with Whizzer throwing himself into Marvin’s arms and swearing he’ll never love another man.

The apartment building comes into view way too fast.

In Marvin’s right hand is a bouquet of roses, expensive and gorgeous. In his left, he releases the box and instead grabs his key.

In front of the apartment, Marvin takes a shuddering breath. “Marvin Brown, Whizzer Feldman,” he says to himself, and then rolls his eyes and puts the key in the lock.

He's barely in the doorway a minute before he's met with a kiss as Whizzer emerges from their room and crosses down the hall. Almost immediately he pulls away, his cheek brushing the flowers, face screwed up in confusion. “What's this?”

“Flowers,” Marvin manages. “For you.”

“Just ‘cause? Aww, Marv, that's adorable. I'll find a vase.” Whizzer kisses him quickly before snatching away the flowers from Marvin and whisking off to the kitchen.

Marvin takes a deep breath. It feels like his bones have come apart and they're rattling around inside of him, prepared to just collapse. He longs for Whizzer’s touch.

“How was work?” Whizzer asks, voice raised from the kitchen. “Mind-numbing? Tedious? Laborious?”

“Boring,” Marvin says, like he does every day. He exhales and fiddles with the box, tugs it out of his pocket to examine it, smooths the velvet over with his thumb. “Hey, uh, do you want to eat out tonight? I'm feeling like a fancy restaurant.”

“Sounds expensive,” Whizzer calls from just by the kitchen door. Marvin quickly shoves the ring back into his slacks. “Just the way I like it.”

Marvin chuckles nervously as Whizzer walks across the carpeted floor of their living room deliberately, not unlike a predator stalking prey, and kisses Marvin so long and deep Marvin almost — _almost_ — forgets about the ring.

But it burns against his thigh, so, regretfully, Marvin tugs away from Whizzer. “Go get dressed up,” he instructs. Whizzer pouts.

“I had a better idea,” he says, tugging at Marvin’s shirt, and it takes physical effort to pull away from him.

“Dressed up,” Marvin repeats, pointing to their bedroom. “You have half an hour, and your hair’s gonna take twenty of those minutes.”

Whizzer scoffs. “ _Please._ I need at _least_ a full hour for this ‘do.”

Marvin laughs as he grabs Whizzer by the shoulders and pushes him towards their room.

Half an hour. Marvin collapses on the couch, closes his eyes, and pulls the ring out to turn over in his palm.

_What a day,_ he thinks, and before he knows it, he’s asleep.

* * *

 

He wakes up, and Whizzer is looking at him, and it takes Marvin a minute to recalibrate to his surroundings, and then —

_Fuck._

The ring.

“Hey,” Whizzer says, a strange cadence to his voice as Marvin sits straight up. He looks to his side and then to the other side and the ring _isn’t there,_ what if it fell inside the couch, how will he explain —

“Marvin,” Whizzer says slowly, “is this yours?”

Oh.

_There’s_ the ring.

Marvin’s heart stops. “Um,” he says, and stands up to meet Whizzer’s eyes. “That — um.”

Whizzer raises his eyebrows and Marvin exhales and takes the box from his hands.

“Okay, yes,” he says, words spilling out like someone broke a dam in his throat. “It’s mine. Wow, this is happening. I — Whizzer Brown, god, I love you so much. You’re the greatest thing that’s ever happened to me. Well, maybe tied with having a son. But almost greatest. And I love you, and you’re clever and you’re an asshole but so am I, and that’s a terrible thing to say when you’re proposing but I guess we’ve never gone by the book, have we? And I —” He swallows, “I want to — Spend my life with you. Be with you forever.” Swallows again. His mouth feels parched. “Whizzer Brown, will you marry me?”

Whizzer, for the first time since Marvin can ever remember, is struck dumb and speechless. Marvin belatedly flips the box open and holds it out, fresh out of words, so he just watches Whizzer, waits, his heart hammering in his chest mercilessly.

“I’d tell you to get on one knee, but I think you do that enough as it is,” Whizzer murmurs when he regains the ability to speak, and it’s such a _Whizzer_ thing to say that Marvin almost cries.

“Is that a yes?” he presses.

In lieu of responding, Whizzer grabs his face and crashes their lips together, and Marvin melts into it, curls his arms around Whizzer’s neck as Whizzer’s hands explore their way across his chest and down his spine. They’ve done this hundreds of times, but everything feels new now, and Marvin is overflowing with life, with happiness, with all this love he has for his boyfriend — for his fiancé — for his _fiancé,_ holy shit.

“Yes,” Whizzer breathes against his lips, smiling so wide it can’t even be disguised as a smirk. “I’ll marry you, dumbass, I can’t wait to marry you.”

Marvin feels like he’s _glowing._

“Put it on,” he says, almost reverently. Whizzer fumbles with the box, very unlike him, and finally pushes it against Marvin’s chest.

“You do it,” he says. Marvin takes out the ring as if handling an explosive, with the utmost care, and delicately slips it on Whizzer’s left hand’s ring finger. It gleams in the apartment light and Whizzer takes a moment to admire it before looking back up at Marvin, distinctly fond.

“This is gorgeous,” he whispers.

Marvin can't answer that sufficiently with words, so he lets the ring box fall onto the couch cushions and captures Whizzer’s mouth on his own once more, fervent, passionate. Whizzer responds in kind.

“Jesus,” Marvin gasps between kisses, “I love you, Whizzer. So fucking much.”

Whizzer laughs, swiftly unbuttoning Marvin’s shirt and pushing it off his shoulders so he can press his palms over Marvin’s bare chest. The ring is cold on his skin, a reminder, a talisman. “I know.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading!! (i love marvin and whizzer theyre so in love what the Fuck) you can find me on tumblr @do-you-ever-really-crash or @vivilevone, so feel free to come to talk to me about Falsettos! (and how much we all hate the american theatre wing lmao) thank you!


End file.
